Ghosts from the Past
by OutOfNames
Summary: Albus and his friends arrive at Hogwarts and befriend Salvatrus, a fellow student. But who is the irritable ghost who calls himself Severus Snape that Sal meets? Why is Professor McGonagall always seem to be watching Sal? Rated T just in case.
1. Chapter 1

**This is my first story on here. I've never been a Harry Potter fan until the last movie when Snape died and that motivated me to start reading the books and eventually writing this story. I do not own any of the characters. I hope you enjoy it.**

Ghosts from the Past

Chapter One

Albus Severus Potter looked around with a mixture of awe and astonishment at the castle towering before him. The black robes swished around his ankles, tangling with the wind that tugged at his long, billowing sleeves.

The dark stone blocks reached several stories into the sky, tapering off into elegant towers, four of which bore the school's emblems. Several large balconies exited from the buildings to some of the best possible views available; a field that he recognized as what must be the Quidditch field, albeit with new stands and hoops; far across the lands he saw a newly-rebuilt hut surrounded by bales of hay and what looked like a griffin, but he wasn't sure from this distance; but most of all, his eyes were drawn to the black blurs whizzing above the castle, blurs that he was positive were students on brooms.

They slowed for only a millisecond to shoot bright sparks from their wands, laughing as gusts of fireworks and sparks flew out into the morning sky and turned into fluttering birds or hissing dragons before morphing into clouds.

_I want to fly like that_, he thought, grinning happily.

"Move along, children; you don't want to be late for the Sorting," urged a tall, ancient witch in a pointed hat. Sniggering, Albus thought of the stereotypical witch and realized that the outfit fit, although not the appearance. She seemed almost…regal, with features that might once have been considered beautiful.

Chattering with his new friends whom he had found on the train, he hiked up the long walk to the castle, passing a hairy giant of a man who did a double-take when he saw who it was.

"Well, I'll be!" he exclaimed. "If it isn't 'arry Potter's own son headin' off ter 'ogwarts on 'is first day 'ere!"

Before he knew it, he was engulfed in a suffocating hug. A few seconds later, when he realized that the man had no intention of letting go, he weakly beat on the barrel-like chest.

"Now, now, Hagrid, let the poor boy breathe," came the laughing voice from the witch he had just seen. "You can catch up to him later. He's taking Care of Magical Creatures this year, so you can see him later on."

"Ah, alright," he said gruffly, at last releasing Albus. Gasping for breath but trying not to make it seem so obvious, he nodded gratefully and then staggered off after his friends.

"Who was that?" asked Lewis Fox, a boy tall for his age with startling green eyes and black hair tinged with just a shade of brown.

"Well, the professor called him 'Hagrid'," stated a girl on his other side who was called Ivy Fox. She was Lewis' identical twin from head to toe, although their personalities were complete opposites. Her brother could be hyper for no reason one minute and depressed the second with a brilliant mind, but she was studious but often-times the "Captain Obvious" of the group, as he had realized during the train ride.

"No, really?" snorted Andros Weasley, as he jogged up behind them, a red-tailed hawk sitting on his shoulder and matching his rust-red hair. It was not regulation, but after much arguing that students were bringing other pets his parents had submitted.

"Andy, be polite," Albus smirked. "Have you seen Rose and Scorpius?"

"Rose and who?"

He sighed and rolled his eyes. "The Malfoy kid that we have known for _only_ about eleven years."

"Oh, him! Yeah, he's somewhere around here, I guess. I know he had a really cool black owl with him," he said excitedly. "And Rose is…I think she ran ahead," he added, stretching his neck to see said cousin.

"Children, please hurry up," called a voice from the enormous castle gate, drawing Albus' attention once more. Swallowing the sentence he had been about to say, he raced the others to catch up with the student mass heading into what looked like a meeting hall.

Inside, Albus resisted stopping dead in his tracks when he entered the Great Hall; sparkling crystal chandeliers with dancing white flames ran above long wooden tables lined with silverware, leading to one large chandelier of the clearest crystal he had ever seen that was interlaced with gold and silver that reflected each and every single flickering flame; at the head of each table was draped a coat-of-arms, identifying which was which. Albus felt a thrill run through him when he saw the Gryffindor flag, but a moment later his eyes landed on the Slytherin flag and a chill ran down his spine.

_What if I get put into that one_? he wondered briefly, but his father's encouraging words overtook them. _One of the bravest wizards I ever knew was in Slytherin, and you are named after him._

"Alright, children, settle down please," spoke a familiar voice from the head of the Hall as the doors behind them closed with a soft clap. "Welcome, everyone! My name is Professor Minerva McGonagall, and I am the Headmistress here at Hogwarts for those of you who are new."

As she continued with her introduction, Albus looked around at the people standing in the Hall. All of the returning students were waiting at the tables patiently, a section vacated for the incoming first-years. The Gryffindors looked almost welcoming with their warm red and gold colors, the Slytherins the exact opposite in their cold greens and blues.

Glancing at his fellow first-years, his eyes dragged over the familiar faces and landed with a start on a lanky boy of medium height with straight, black hair and pale green eyes. There was something about him that reminded Albus of a picture his father had once shown him and it nagged at his subconscious, the memory trying to force its way upward to freedom, but he just couldn't snag it. Shaking his head to clear it, he looked back at the Headmistress.

"And now, please step up one at a time for the Sorting Hat to decide which House you shall all be placed in!"

One by one, the incoming students sat on the chair with the old, rugged hat on their heads as it muttered to itself and yelled their house. Both Foxes and Rose ended up in Gryffindor, as expected, but Andros' jaw dropped when he was placed in Ravenclaw. Outraged, he stalked back to his table, glaring over the people at his friends.

"Albus Severus Potter!" Professor McGonagall called, smiling down at the nervous face.

As soon as he sat down, the Hat started talking. "Oh, great, another Potter and another hard decision. With a name like yours you would fit right into Slytherin, but considering what the man had done in the end and what the rest of your bloodline tells me, you should be in…"

Albus bit his lower lip and shut his eyes, all thoughts racing from his mind.

"…Gryffindor!"

"Yes!" he exclaimed with a laugh, grinning. Smiling, he ran down to his friends. Andy looked annoyed from his table, obviously wishing that he had been placed in Gryffindor as the rest of his mates had, especially his cousin!

"Salvatrus Dragonstar!"

Everybody's head turned at the name of the last newcomer, and Albus felt his eyebrows shoot up into his flat brown hair when the strangely-familiar kid with the straight black hair walked forward and sat confidently in the chair. The Hat snorted and was about to yell "Slytherin" when the face suddenly contorted.

"Well, well, well, what _do_ we have here?" it asked, attempting to peer down its leather nose to see the boy underneath. "Quite a mixture of blood ya have in ya, quite a mixture…Slytherin by blood yet worthy of a Gryffindor by quality…how about…well, this is a tough one. Hmm…Slytherin…no, Gryffindor, no…" The face on the hat frowned pensively as he contemplated which house to put the boy in.

A deathly silence fell over the students and they turned to glance at each other when it stretched into a minute, two, more. The first-year in question squirmed uncomfortably and looked up into the wide brim.

"Oh, fine, let's put you in Gryffindor," the Hat huffed testily. "Next!"

A murmur rippled through the people and the assigned table cheered half-heartedly as the new Gryffindor walked towards them. Finding no other place vacant, he flipped his cloak back and took a seat beside Albus and the rest of the crew, not meeting their eyes.

"Now, let us enjoy the feast!" the Headmistress called when the tittering died down. Immediately, the empty plates and tables were filled to overflowing with fruit, vegetables, and just about any kind of meat or salad dish available in the world. Eyes bulging, Albus and Lewis attacked the food, piling their plates high with the mouth-watering dishes, but Ivy simply chuckled and shook her head.

"Leave room for dessert, boys," she said with a smile. "I hear there's pudding."


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you to those who have put this story on their Alerts and/or Favorites, but I would really like to know what you guys think of it!**

**Disclaimer-I dont own HP or anything that is related to the original characters by JK Rowling, only the story itself and the characters that I have created.**

Chapter Two

"Blimey, I'm stuffed," groaned Lewis as he stumbled up the stairs to the Gryffindor common room, one arm slung across Albus' shoulders and another across Ivy's, although not as heavily. Behind them, Salvatrus trailed uncertainly, looking for a way to walk past them.

"Alright, Potter, Dragonstar, Fox, you're all in that one," commanded a seventh-year when they got to the top, pointing to a room closest to the fire. "It's three per room, mates, so go on in. Your trunks should already be there."

Ivy and Rose bid them good night and went to the girls' dormitory, talking about the new things they had seen.

Inside, Lewis seemed to forget his full stomach and ran to the bed by the window, claiming it as his with a loud "Mine!" that earned him a boot to the head from a sixth-year through the door still open into the common-room. Muffling his laughter, Albus kneeled by his trunk near his bed in the corner, murmuring the incantation for it and touching the lock with his wand.

"Hey, I thought none of us knew how to use our wands," protested Lewis as he sat up.

Albus flushed and quickly opened the trunk, ruffling through it busily. "Mom only taught me how to make a lock charm, that's all."

"Oh, okay. Can you teach me? I don't want others looking through my stuff."

"Uh, maybe later," he evaded, pulling out his nightclothes and leaning back on his heels to look through everything he had, checking off a mental list to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything.

_Three sets of uniform black robes, check. One plain pointed hat, check. One pair of dragon-hide protective gloves, check. One black winter cloak with silver fastenings, check. Any clothes containing colors I'll get later. Boots, sneakers, check. Other everyday clothes, check, obviously._

_Books. _The Standard Book of Spells, A History of Magic, Magical Theory, A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration, One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi, Magical Drafts and Potions, Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, _and_ The Dark Forces._ Got all of them, good. Now I need to make sure I don't forget to grab them for class each day._

_Messenger bag with all writing utensils, perfect, right there in the corner of my trunk. One pewter cauldron, standard size two; one set of glass phials; one telescope; one set of brass scales; and no broom yet since we don't know how to fly yet._

Satisfied, he sat on his bed and reached into the bag of owl feed he had withdrawn from his trunk, giving a handful to his white and grey owl, Winlock. An odd name, but when he had seen the owl, it was the first thing that had popped into his head and it seemed the fit the curious bird.

Just as Winlock had flown down to sit promptly on his shoulder that day in Hogsmeade, there had been only one wand that had responded to him immediately. He glanced down at the unique wand in his hand.

Made from birch, he knew that the only way a wand could be properly made from this would is if the tree itself was struck down by lightning, as he knew this one had been. The coat was smooth and polished to a fine golden color with a strand of unicorn hair. Combined, the birch brought healing, protection, and new beginnings; the unicorn strand enforced the healing and protection.

A rustle across the room brought his head up with a snap and he found the although Lewis was snoring by now, Salvatrus was watching him closely, his eyes fixated on the wand with curiosity.

"So, I don't think I got to know you much," Albus spoke up suddenly, wondering about the young wizard. "Are you from around here?"

"Actually, I came in from a Muggle city but moved into the Wizarding World after a few years," he replied, much to Albus' surprise. "What's your name again? Didn't catch it at the Sorting."

"I'm Albus Potter. Your name is…" He trailed off, unsure of how to complete the sentence without being rude.

"Pretty weird, huh?" the boy finished for him with a twitch of his lips. "Yeah, I know. Call me Sal if you want, though. Most people do."

"Sal. Okay, no problem," he agreed with a smile. Just then, however, he caught an eyeful of his roommate putting away what was apparently his wand into a hard case into the nightstand by his bed.

"Whoa! Is that your wand?" he asked, eyes wide. "Can I see it?"

Sal looked a bit uncomfortable but after a moment's hesitation took it out and walked over to Albus, letting him take a look.

The gorgeous wood was unlike any he had ever seen, shaded and flowing from gold to fire-red as though real flames licked the surface. Some sort of symbols had been burned into the handle, emphasizing the twirling wood-grain and making it seem as though it was floating all by itself, twisting, turning, melting, all in one.

"What kind of wood is it?" he breathed incredulously, not daring to touch the beautiful wand.

"It's called 'Ancient Kauri'," Sal explained, turning it in his hands. "Dad gave it to me for my eleventh birthday and it's accepted me."

"What's the core made of?"

"A manticore hair and a basilisk fang," came the curt reply, and Albus glanced up in surprise at the sharp change in tone. Backing away from the touchy subject, he examined the wood again.

"It really is beautiful," he murmured. To himself, he made a mental note to find out what Ancient Kauri was, because even just being close to it made him feel that there was a power to this wand that he had never felt before. And since when did wands have two elements in their core?

"Yeah. Well, we'd better turn in for now if we want to be fresh for tomorrow's classes," Sal said, abruptly changing the subject. "G'night."

"G'night," echoed Albus, but not before he pulled out the small package his father had placed in his trunk. As soon as the others were definitely fast asleep and his curiosity became too much to bear, he ripped it open hastily and found a letter, some sort of cloak, and a blank piece of parchment.

_Dear Albus,_

_I hope you waited until a private moment to read this as I had requested, but with you, who knows. Enclosed is the Cloak of Invisibility that had often served my purpose and I hope that you use it well. Don't let anyone know about it except those who you trust the most._

_Second, I have also given you the Marauder's Map. This, like the cloak, is something only for you to know about and use. All you have to say is "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good" to make the text appear, and "Mischief Managed" to make it invisible again. Do NOT let this get into the wrong hands._

_Much love,_

_Mum and Dad_

"I'll have to check this out tomorrow," he mused aloud, grinning wolfishly at the prospect of possessing something like this. Hiding it in his trunk, he snuggled under the covers and sighed softly as sleep overtook him, filling his head with flying brooms and cloaks that made one invisible.


	3. Chapter 3

**Sorry I haven't updated in a while; it's been hectic. Glad to see people adding this to their favorites and alerts, but I want to know what you think of it, too! Please review! It's hard to write when I have no idea what people think of it.**

**Disclaimer-I do not own Harry Potter or any of the HP references here, only the story itself and the characters that I have created other than the original JK Rowling characters.**

Chapter Three

"I hate Potions," groaned Lewis, slamming his book bag down on the wooden table in the Dining Hall with a thud.

"We have it three times a week, one of which is a double class," laughed Ivy. "Have fun!"

"And then it's Defense Against the Dark Arts next, so this day is bound to suck," he sulked, ignoring his sister's words.

"You don't like those classes?" asked Sal curiously from his place next to Albus at the other end of the table. He had been the only one to complete the first assignment correctly, already predicted to be a Potions prodigy by the professor.

"Well, not all of us here like bubbling chemicals that can sear our skin off if we touch them," grumbled Lewis as he filled his plate with food. "I prefer animals and I can't wait to fly!"

Shrugging, Sal engaged in the conversation but eventually pulled his Potions book out of his bag, flipping through the pages before shutting it with a snap and tossing it back inside.

"See y'all around later," he drawled, slinging the leather messenger bag over his shoulder and strolling to the exit, shaking his head to clear his face of the unruly hair.

A tall, thin man with short, curly brown hair and glasses on the edge of his nose welcomed them into the Dark Arts classroom, his black robes flowing with the light breeze from the hallway. His amber eyes followed each of his new pupils carefully, and Albus suppressed a shiver at the strange frown he received.

"Why did he look at me like that?" he whispered to Sal as they quickly walked down to a pair of seats in the corner of the classroom, sliding in quietly.

"He wasn't looking at you," the boy replied distantly, glancing back at the professor but offering no other advice.

An hour and a half later, Albus threw his books on his bed in a similar fashion to how Lewis had at lunch, exasperated. Across the room, Sal silently laid his bag on the trunk at the foot of his bed and stumbled out into the common room in a daze.

Albus didn't blame him: the only thing Professor Arthur Obscures had accomplished in the lesson was antagonizing the student until Sal snapped, shouting some indecipherable hex and flicking his wand automatically. The professor had immediately blocked it, of course, but not before a look of absolute horror mingling with fascination had taken over.

"Fifty points from Gryffindor for attempting to hex a professor and detention in my office tonight at eight," was all he had said before stalking back to the front of the classroom, never saying a word to Sal for the rest of the day.

"Where did you learn that?" Albus asked softly, sitting beside Sal on the couch.

The boy refused to meet his eyes, fingering the designs in his wand as he thought of the answer. Just as he had given up any hope of receiving an answer and turned away, the low voice murmured.

"What?" he asked, not hearing the words.

"I learned it from Dad," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "He kept saying it once and I memorized it and tried it later." His lips twitched slightly. "It makes the person hang upside-down by their heels from mid-air. It's actually kind of funny when you think about it, and it doesn't do any damage unless they land on something hard."

"Can you teach me it?"

"No!" Sal said sharply, jumping and moving away from Albus, shaking his head vigorously. "No, I can't. Besides, you're not supposed to know stuff like that for another few years, if at all."

"Then why do you—"

"I gotta go; I have detention," he interrupted and jogged out into the hallway, his wand sticking out of the pocket of his robe.

Walking down the steps, Sal looked around the silent walls at the moving portraits. Most of their occupants were fast asleep, snoring softly and blissfully ignoring his walk of shame to the basement where Professor Obscures' office was. He knew he had lashed out with something that was prohibited, but all the pestering had just been too much to handle and he had lost it, spitting out the hex he had been practicing so fervently not a week before.

"Off to detention, are we now, Dragonstar?" mused a low, gruff male voice by his ear. Gasping, he whirled around, his wand already palmed, but in the place of the sound was nothing but air. Breathing through his mouth in rough pants, his eyes darted around. Prying himself from the stone wall, he slowly walked down the steps, glancing behind himself every now and then. When he turned the corner and could see the professor's door at the end, he sprinted as fast as his legs could carry him, slowing down only to avoid crashing into the door. Taking a deep breath, he reached forward and knocked lightly, flinching at the sudden cold gust of air.

The knob turned and the door opened with a loud creak that echoed down the empty corridors.

"You're late," snapped Professor Obscures, already stalking back into his room without sparing Sal even a momentary glance.

The room wasn't very large, not that much bigger than the dormitory he was sharing with the other two boys, but the walls were covered in floor-to-ceiling cases overflowing with books, both old and new, ragged ends standing beside pristine ones, the smell of old parchment rich throughout the room and mingling with a strange archaic smell, something that he would have expected to find in the restoration room at a museum or some other place like that.

"Actually, we will be going to the classroom instead and cleaning it," he said suddenly, flicking his wand so that a bucket full of water, a mop, and a can of liquid soap flew at Sal. "The cleaning crew forgot to do so over the summer and I'm afraid we will have to do it before next class. And you can't use your wand," he added at the frown appearing on Sal's face.

Mopping the floor tiredly two hours later, the boy froze as a cold breeze ruffled his wavy hair. The door was definitely still closed and the professor had left for his chambers half an hour earlier, telling Sal to finish and then head back to his rooms and that he would be able to watch him until he did so.

"Who's there?" he asked in a stable voice, surprising even himself with how confident he sounded.

"One of my own, mopping dirty floors," came the same low voice from the hallway. Shooting to his feet, Sal looked around himself, trying to find the source of the voice.

"Where are you?"

"I can't believe you, who carry so much…potential…would be sitting here mopping those soiled floors like a _Muggle_!" The man spat the last word as if it was foul to his tongue, and suddenly, a flash of silver to his right caught his eye. Whirling, he stiffened when he found himself staring straight at a man who could have been his future self if he added another thirty years to his appearance.

Tall and swathed in a black robe that made him look like a bat, the man had oily black hair falling just short of his shoulders, his dark eyes glittering with an ominous air. Taking a deep breath as though he had been deprived of air for years, he walked forward slowly, the black robes swishing with each step and twisting around his legs as he stalked across the newly-washed floor towards Sal. Try as he might, the boy realized that his legs were involuntarily taking steps backwards and there was nothing he could do about it when his back hit the wall. If he could fly, he would have been speeding up the wall.

"Wh-who are you?" Sal stuttered, his sweaty hands shaking as he tried to discreetly find his wand in his pocket, but the man scoffed and the next instant it appeared in his own hand as he examined it carefully and with interest.

"Quite a fine wand," he murmured. "It is a shame you don't recognize me, but then again, I doubt your _mother_ would have mentioned me."

Sal bristled angrily, all fear seeping out of him in a heartbeat. "I presume that you know perfectly well that my mother is a Muggle," he snarled heatedly. "Since you seem to know so much about me, that should not come as news to you."

"You're right, it doesn't," agreed the wizard with an approving arch of his eyebrow. "But that is beside the point." He opened his mouth as though to say something but then shut it, turning his head to the hallway. Snorting, he flicked his hand and the wand in it disappeared.

"Your new professor is coming, so you'd better look like you'd made some progress," the man said just as he Apparated.

"Wait, my wand!" exclaimed Sal, and a moment before the door opened, he heard a voice hiss, _"In your pocket, Salvatrus."_

Sure enough, the ancient wand was just where it had been in his right pocket.

"Why aren't you doing anything?" snapped Professor Obscures as he walked through the door, scowling angrily. "Shall I assign another detention?"

"I actually just finished, Professor," Sal replied smoothly, calming his nerves and looking around the room. "Is there anything else you would like me to do, sir?"

The man followed his gaze and huffed when he saw that the room was indeed spotless.

"Head back to your room and get a full night's sleep, for tomorrow is bound to be challenging in Charms," he muttered and left for his chambers. Shaking his head, Sal quickly ran up the steps, knowing that if he was caught out of bed at this hour it would be yet another detention.


	4. Chapter 4

**A bit of a long one, but I got into it. I see that I'm getting readers, but I would really like to get some reviews, too! I need to know what you think of the story and how I can make it better!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own HP or any of the characters associated with it. All I own is my original writing and the characters that I created for this story that are not related to the JKR Harry Potter series.**

Chapter Four

The class droned on and it was all Albus could do not to yawn too obviously. Glancing around his fellow prisoners of The History of Magic class, he noticed that they were no better off than he.

Charms yesterday morning had gone smoothly, but Astronomy at midnight? And then they were expected to be awake in History as the old skeleton of a man spoke in a monotone? Not happening. He remembered his father telling him about this ancient professor who didn't seem to realize that he had died centuries before, and from what he could see, the wizard was still as oblivious despite his sunken eyes, thousands of wrinkles, and tiny form that was swallowed by his black robes.

Unable to resist anymore, he yawned broadly and rested his head on his arm, barely registering the words on the parchment in front of him with his exhausted eyes.

"Dragonstar!"

Jerked awake by the unexpected bark from the back of the room, the entire class turned in their seats to find the Headmistress standing in the doorway, a strict look on her face. Gulping, Sal packed his bag quickly and followed her out into the hallway, paling with every step.

"What'd he do now?" whispered Ivy to him, but he shook his head, just as mystified as she. A few minutes later, the students were asleep in their seats once more, a vacant glaze over their eyes.

"Sal!" he called across the room in the Great Hall at lunch that day, spotting his friend walking slowly to their table. "Where were you? What happened?"

"Hmm?" The boy blinked as though resurfacing from a dream and stared at him blankly for a couple seconds before realizing what he was looking at.

"Oh, nothing, don't worry about it," he said quickly, forcing a weak smile that eventually convinced his eyes to gleam. "What's for lunch?"

Still unconvinced by the sudden transformation, Albus followed him back to their table, wondering what Sal was hiding. And he had to be hiding something; why else would he close up at the strangest subjects or change subjects so swiftly? Determined to discover the mystery, he piled his plate high, the lunch quiet save for a few Fantasy Flame Fireworks bathing the Great Hall in all the colors of the rainbow.

The fire subsided to no more than a flicker at nine that evening as Sal sat on the couch in front of it, deep in thought about the past few days. The flames danced in a hypnotizing way and he found himself looking for shapes and faces in them as the other students filed away into their rooms.

Absolute silence filled the Gryffindor common room when he was the only one remaining, broken only by the crackling logs. Darkness set in, casting everything in shadow save for what the firelight reached. All of a sudden, the fire spat and a sheen of green overtook the orange. Panicking, Sal leaped to his feet and looked around uncertainly as a plume of blue-green sparks shot from the hearth and materialized into a human form with billowing robes directly in front of him.

"You…" he whispered, recognizing the wizard who had appeared during his detention the other day.

One black eyebrow arched. "That all you can say, Dragonstar? What a shame, I thought you might have something more in you to speak of, considering what a speech Minerva gave you this morning…yes, I know about that. Did you really think I wouldn't? I see everything in this castle, just as I have for the past twenty years. The only difference is that now, so can you. Come," he concluded briskly and stalked over to the door…and right through it with a swish of his cloak.

Looking around one more time, Sal sighed and followed the phantom, wizard, spark-man, apparition, whatever he was, down the winding staircase and out the portrait that hid the entrance.

The semi-transparent figure floated down the steps quickly and Sal had to run to keep up, praying that no one would see him. His hopes were dashed when he heard footsteps echoing down the corridor.

"I can't go on!" he hissed to the ghost-like form, and to his surprise, the man stopped and snapped his fingers. Immediately, an odd feeling rose through him, almost as though his very particles were clenching to his core and then flying apart at the speed of light, leaving him gasping for breath.

"First time's usually difficult," the man said quietly in that drawl of his, but despite his words Sal felt a twinge of guilt, as if he had disappointed the wizard. "But you're doing rather well. Don't lag. No one can see you anyway."

_Why not?_ he wanted to ask, but intuition told him that it was better to stay silent until they were in a safer place. Well, at least a place he was supposed to be in.

The prefect walked by them as though they didn't even exist, whistling softly as he strolled down the stone hallways, his red-and-gold scarf fluttering around his neck. _I'm invisible!_ Sal thought with a grin, and to his surprise, the ghost glanced back at him over his shoulder with a smirk on his translucent face.

"Of course you are. Now, hurry up. One of your roommates is getting curious as to your whereabouts," he said, continuing along the corridor to the stairs. Left with no alternative, the boy followed.

The stairs were in disarray, refusing to let them pass even when Sal murmured the pass-codes to straighten them, but the wizard held out his hand.

"Take it." Hesitating, Sal reached out his shaking hand and a heartbeat later it was clasped in the man's. He gasped at how cold that large hand was, but then again, what had he expected from a ghost? For he surely was a ghost, right?

Suddenly, he realized that his feet were no longer bearing his weight. Glancing down, he stifled a squeak when he saw the stone floor several feet beneath him. Eyes wider than ever, he gripped the hand tightly in fear that if he slipped, he would plummet to the rapidly-disappearing floor.

But as he kept going up, he began to feel more comfortable and at home, as though he had been born to fly. Lifting his head, he looked around curiously at the floors as they rose past them to the very top. If he was right, this was the seventh floor and which had nothing more than a blank wall and a few rooms.

"Why are we here?" he asked quietly as they descended lightly onto the cold stone.

"Because there is something here that you need to find," explained the man mysteriously. Releasing the white-knuckled hand, he walked towards the wall and scrunched up his eyebrows as he thought of something. He paced a few times in front of it and then came to stand where he had begun, looking up at the ceiling.

"Come here and shut your eyes, then open them again," said the wizard. Sal obeyed, his curiosity peaking, and his jaw dropped when he opened his eyes to see that the smooth wall before him now held an enormous wooden door.

"After you," drawled the man.

"Wait," Sal said hastily. "What's your name?"

The man stiffened and watched him intently for such a long time that Sal didn't think he would ever answer. At last, however, one word escaped the reluctant lips: "_Snape_."

The name tickled the back of his subconscious, but he couldn't exactly place where he had heard it before. Somewhere in his past, in class, in—

"Step to it, Dragonstar," Snape snapped. "Time isn't standing still for you."

Swallowing, Sal opened the door and stepped through it, amazed by the sight that met his eyes.

The entire room, the corners of which he could not see, was filled with odds and ends of various objects, trinkets, furniture, treasures, thousands of books, jewels, rugs, chairs, broken things, and who knew what else. Quite a few objects were either on the verge of collapse or already cascading down into piles. Most of the towers were charred and blackened as if from a fire, but it seemed as though the room was recovering in its own way, the black disappearing to make way for the pervious condition of the items despite the stench of smoke that still clung to the room. Everything, however, was absolutely free of dust. A small bird fluttered over and sat on a shattered chair, eyeing them closely, and then flew over to sit on his shoulder, singing cheerfully into his ear.

"What is this?" he asked softly, barely daring to breathe lest something be dislodged and toppled onto him.

"The Room of Requirement," Snape said gruffly. He made his way over to a dark part of the room, hidden behind an enormous cabinet draped with a dark blue cloth. Following, Sal stepped over an aged bloody axe, a box of bottles whose contents glowed eerily in the dim light, clothes rotten and moth-eaten with age, and rusted swords and helmets, some with what looked like Druid etchings encircling them. Behind all of that, stuffed figure of a troll hid a passageway, and it was through this that the wizard led Sal, onwards to a dark walkway that opened into a more-or-less vacant spot. However, his hopes of getting some clean air were dashed when Snape pointed him at a small cabinet up against the wall.

It seemed like any other broken piece of furniture in the world of leftovers, what with its ragged surface pock-marked by a strong acid of some sort and with a chipped bust of a wizard in a filthy hair wig and tarnished tiara on top, but in his chest Sal felt a strange constriction. Something told him that this was a source of evil, something Dark…

"Open the cabinet," Snape drawled in his ear, his icy breath sending shivers down the boy's spine. Moving through air as thick and sluggish as molasses, he pried open the creaking door and peered inside.

The next instant, he jumped back with a yelp. The skeleton of a creature with five legs glared back at him from the insides of a rusty cage, the razor-sharp teeth bared in a final, desperate attempt at a hopeless escape. In spite of the frightening scene, Sal noticed something placed behind the wire cages, something that looked like a book or a journal.

"Take it out," hissed Snape. "What, do I need to tell you what to do step by step? And just as I was beginning to think your wizard side was more prominent than your Muggle blood…"

"Leave my bloodline alone!" growled Sal with an uncharacteristic display of fury. Surprising even himself, he tried not to reveal the shock on his face but must have failed as the man smiled coldly, the yellow teeth just appearing behind the pale, thin lips.

"Do as I say and I just might."

"Why should I take it out? What is it? Why am I here?" Sal countered, his blood boiling.

"Because if you want to be prepared, you'll need it," Snape snarled, meeting the steady, blazing look he received with one of ominously chilling calm.

"Prepared for what?"

The wizard snorted in exasperation. "Do all Muggles ask so many worthless questions?"

"Worthless? I find them rather pertinent," echoed a familiar voice from the shadows. Glancing over his shoulder, Sal felt his eyebrows shoot into his hairline at their own accord.


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: Sorry I haven't updated in so long, but school has been insane. Hopefully the longer update makes up for it :) Again, I thank you for all the alerts and favorites, but I would appreciate comments to know what you guys think of the story!**

**Disclaimer: I am not JKR and do not own any of the characters she created, only the actual writing and the characters that I have created.**

Chapter Five

"Minerva, what a pleasant surprise," murmured Snape, a fake, albeit strangely charming, smile appearing on his lips. The way it stretched them, though, Sal could tell that it was not one that often graced the pale face.

"What are you doing with the boy here, Severus?" she asked, pointedly ignoring the dangerous gleam in his eyes that clearly said that he was up to no good.

"Oh, just taking a walk down Memory Lane," he replied smoothly, and when he flicked his hand behind his back, Sal noticed the cabinet disappear.

"Really, now? Just as Potter took a walk down here himself twenty or so years ago, isn't that so?" At the arch of her eyebrow, the boy hid a grin, knowing that she was seeing right through the wizard.

"Precisely," Snape breathed, a distant look coming into his eyes. "Well, it was lovely meeting you again after so many decades, Minerva, but we shall be going. Wouldn't want young Dragonstar to get another detention, now would we?" he stated, his unusual manner of speech making the words sound like an unspoken threat.

The Headmistress bristled, obviously hearing the underlying message loud and clear, and nodded stiffly. "Just make sure that you don't have anymore late-night walks, Salvatrus," she said in a weighted tone.

"Yes, Professor," he murmured and, with a glance at Snape, began to search for his way to the exit.

"Oh, bother," Snape groaned and with a flick of the ebony wand that had appeared in his hand, sent a white doe leaping out of the tip. Landing on the stone floor soundlessly, the doe touched her nose to Sal's arm and led him out of the wall he had come out of. Briefly he wondered whether he was still invisible or not, but an oblivious passing prefect answered at least that question for him. Staying close to the doe, he ran down the corridor and came to a sudden stop at the foot of the staircase.

"How am I going to get down?" he mused, stroking the white neck and looking down the several flights. "Can you fly?"

To his surprise, the creature nodded and before he knew what was happening, he was floating down to the entrance of the Gryffindor tower.

"Thank you," he whispered into the animal's ear before letting her go. Turning, she disappeared into the night sky through the glass windows, melting into a harmless cloud.

Mystified, he slipped into his room and fell asleep minutes later, too exhausted about the past events to even change.

"Why are you in your robes already? Or…still?" asked a groggy voice from above. Groaning, Sal pried his leaden eyelids apart and immediately shielded them against the blinding sunlight streaming through the window.

"What's going on?" he yawned, hiding his face in the soft, inviting pillow.

"Nothing, except for Herbology in an hour and we still need to eat breakfast," piped up Lewis as he looked over Albus' shoulder at Sal. "You okay? You look like you spent all night hiking."

_You have no idea,_ Sal thought with a grin. "I'll be up in a minute. See ya guys in the Great Hall."

When they left, he flipped over onto his back and thought about what had happened. What was in that cabinet? Where had it gone? Who was Severus Snape? How did the Headmistress know him? Questions after question and not even a ghost of an answer.

He sat up and looked around the room, squinting angrily against the sun. With a grunt of irritation, he snapped his fingers at the drapes jokingly, thinking that he would love for them to close and remembering how the wizard, Snape, had simply snapped his fingers and everything seemed to obey him.

The room was plunged into darkness as the drapes fell with a thud, swinging to block the sunlight from penetrating the room. Sal sat still on his bed, his pale green eyes wide as saucers. Swallowing, he looked down at his hand, the fingers of which were still frozen in the snap, then at the drapes that were now hanging still, and back again at his hand.

"That was just a mistake, the fastenings were probably not strong enough or not done properly," he thought to himself in hopes of reassurance, but a part of him knew that that was not true.

Jumping to his feet, he crouched at his trunk and opened it with a simple anti-spell that broke the lock charm. Drawing out the Gryffindor robe he had received the other day, he draped it over his clothes and rifled through the pockets of the trunk to find a comb to untangle that unruly hair.

Just as he was placing it back, however, a dull leather cover peeked out from under his cloak in the far corner of his trunk. Frowning, he reached over and pulled out the book, brushing the sleeve of his black robe over the cover to clear away the black…soot? Was that soot?

The cover read "Advanced Potion-Making" in faded letters on a battered background, stained and torn and bedraggled, but the book seemed to have a soul and a past, the rough leather fitting into his hands as though it was a lost part of him. In the silence of the room, he felt as if he had just stepped through a portal into another universe, like he had heard port-keys to do.

Suddenly the door banged open and he dropped the book from surprise. It landed with a thump on his dragon gloves and he threw his hat over it to cover it up.

"Com'on, we're waiting for you!" Albus called from the arching doorway, red in the face from sprinting up the stairs. He caught his friend's anxious gesture, however, and walked forward, his brows scrunching from curiosity. "What is that?"

"J-just a book," Sal stuttered and stuffed his Herbology book into his messenger bag. "Come on, I want to eat something before class. And you didn't have to wait for me, either," he pointed out, although he was grateful his friend had stayed back.

"Ah, no problem. Race you down!" he cried, taking two steps at a time as he bounded down the spiral stairway. As Sal followed with a hand on the railing to keep from falling, he wondered where the book had come from and how someone had managed to get past his lock charm. It wasn't that sophisticated, true, but it was something, wasn't it?

The first two classes went as expected, and by the end of Transfiguration, which had been filled with Professor McGonagall looking at him every five seconds, they were all itching in anticipation of their first flying lesson that was coming up in the afternoon.

"I can't wait!" squeaked Ivy excitedly, practically jumping in her seat. "I hear they're letting us use the old Firebolts, too!"

"Nah, that's for later lessons," replied Andros confidently. It was a joint class of Ravenclaws and Gryffindors, so the entire group was together again. "We start with that really slow Nimbus 2000 and then move up to Nimbus 2001 and only when we can fly well can we get the Firebolts. After that, we can get the real stuff, nothing like those slow brooms."

"Firebolts are supposed to be pretty fast," Lewis commented.

"Yeah, twenty years ago they were the best and only the richest could have them custom-ordered 'cause they were so expensive. Now? Pshht, you can get those things second-hand for a deal at the old Borgin and Burke's."

"Then what's considered top-notch now?" countered the black-haired boy.

This time, it was Sal who answered from behind them where he was sitting next to Albus. "Well, there are two, actually. One is the Boltrunner, which is the modern version of the Firebolt in terms of accessibility. It is extremely expensive and is custom-made by order only. However, it's not the best broom." He paused dramatically, the corner of his mouth twitching as he noticed all eyes within earshot on him. Just as he opened his mouth, though, Professor McGonagall turned to look at him with exasperation.

"Children, please, pay attention for the last five minutes of class, and then you will be free to go to lunch. Five minutes, or all of you will be serving detention Saturday morning."

Eyes glistening with mischief, Sal turned back to his book and pretended not to notice the inquisitive faces glancing at him, hoping that he would be rebellious again and continue talking, but for once the little devil was obedient, smothering his grin expertly and burying himself in the ancient pages.

"Seriously, what is the best broom?" Lewis asked him as he jogged to catch up with Sal and Albus as they made their way down to the flying field.

The young wizard glanced around nonchalantly, eyeing the Quidditch field. "Don't you wish we could play that?" he asked, deliberately off-topic.

Growling, Lewis nodded irritably and turned his attention back to his friend. "Salvatrus, com'on, tell us! What's the best broom?"

By now, word had spread about an interesting story and about ten boys from their and Slytherin's class were gathering around on the walk down to Professor Hooch's Flying lesson.

"Yeah, tell us!"

"Tell us! Tell us! Tell us!" echoed the other students, their eyes glinting with anticipation of an adventurous story. "Com'on, Dragonstar, tell us!"

He sighed and slowed as they reached the hut. The professor was still nowhere to be seen, so he hopped up and sat on the low stone wall by the trees, surveying his audience.

"Well," he began, "there is a rumor of a broom that was made about three years ago or so. It is called the Shadowflyer, and there is note of only one of these ever being made before the creator mysteriously disappeared."

"What's so special about it?" asked a whiny first-year who barely reached Albus' shoulder. The crowd immediately shushed him and listened intently to Sal, enthralled with a mystery.

"It is said that the rider of that broom becomes invisible, and that the only way to see the person is by their shadow," Sal continued, his voice low and hypnotic, and briefly he remembered how the ghost wizard had spoken in an almost identical tone. "There is, of course, a darker side to this wondrous item, as there must be to anything with such powers." He stopped, reveling in the way the boys hung on his every word. Just like that, though, he jumped down from the wall and straightened his robes, and when he spoke, his voice was back to normal, none of the haunting quality remaining.

"Hello, Professor Hooch," he said cheerfully, startling his spectators from their reverie.

"Good afternoon, everyone," spoke the professor. "As most, if not all, of you must know, I am Professor Hooch and I will be teaching you how to fly. None of you should have any brooms yet, so we're going to use the old Cleansweeps today and then see how you go from there. Any questions?"

"But those things are ancient!" Lewis exclaimed in distress. "I thought we were going to use the Nimbus brooms."

Professor Hooch fixed him with a stern glare that silenced him. "Until we know that you are able to hold yourself properly on a broom and fly without crashing into every single object in sight including the ground, you will be using the old ones. The Nimbus brooms may be old as well but they still cost a pretty penny and we will not have you breaking brooms every other minute. And anyway, to begin with, it is safer with a weaker broom before you get a feel for it. Only then can you move onto the more powerful ones. You understand?"

Shuffling his feet, Lewis nodded and didn't meet her eyes as she stalked over to the hut and opened its door after having unlocked it with a password. Inside were racks of brooms, either attached to the wall or similar to bookcases with holds for the handgrips.

Along one side were the Cleansweep brooms, and it was here that she went, passing one to each of the students. Looking around, Sal noticed that the next wall held rows of Nimbus 2000 and 2001 brooms, all gleaming and slick with their sleek sticks and air-lined forms. The last wall, though, held a number of Firebolts and something that he recognized as the Speedwing, the next model after the Firebolts with its distinctive bars for the feet shaped as Apollo wings for better speed. If pressure was applied, it worked as a turbo charge that worked for ten seconds before it needed to recharge. Quidditch Seekers favored this one because it enabled them to shoot forward and snatch the Snitch at the last second before the opponent Seeker noticed it.

And lastly beside the Speedwing collection stood the Jetskiffs, the final version of the brooms other than the Boltrunners. These were known for going underwater as well without any problems and if flying just above the water, the broom would stabilize and fly parallel to the surface so that the rider could relax his control and simply worry about staying on, something that was quite useful in the recent marathon the Wizarding community had begun that involved long periods of flying over several terrains.

The lesson went by with several falls, disobedient brooms refusing to follow orders, and even a broken one. By the time they were done, all of them were beginning to reconsider their previous assumption that flying was only fun. The minute they were excused, though, the boys all ran towards Sal and asked for the remainder of the story.

Smiling casually, he continued his way up the hill. "What do you want to know? I thought I told you everything," he said, knowing full well that he hadn't.

"What does it look like?" someone asked.

Sal took a few more steps, inhaled, and then began, his voice dropping into the timbre from before. "Nobody even knows what it looks like, for although it was demonstrated once before a committee to be approved of, all those present were found dead within a week, the same week that the creator disappeared." He broke off, letting the words sink in. From the back, he saw that Scorpius was sniggering and walking away with a few of his followers.

"Do you not believe me, Scorpius?" he called out, his tone dangerously low.

"Oh, I'm just amazed that something like this actually happened," came the cool reply. "If no one knows about it, how come you do?"

Sal smiled coldly, the ominous smirk making the students present back away at the shocking expression from the normally cheerful boy. "That, my _friend_, is because the creator…was my father."

Gasps of shock came from the boys and a murmur ran through them. Satisfied with the effect, Sal picked up his pace and was soon on the way up to the Gryffindor tower when an amused voice stopped him from the stairs.

"That's quite a story you were telling," the Headmistress commented with a smile, reaching the bottom of the steps. "How much of it is true?"

He shrugged. "Don't know, honestly. Something my mother once told me after Dad disappeared…I don't know whether or not to believe it. I know for a fact that he worked with brooms and a few days before he was gone he said he had finally achieved his goal, but I never found out what it was he discovered."

She regarded him with a strange look for a long time, evaluating his answer. Finally, she gave a curt nod and ascended a step.

"I am sorry to hear that, Salvatrus," she said quietly, the sympathy in her voice making him uncomfortable. If there was one thing he couldn't stand, it was sympathy. She noticed that and her expression softened. "You're so much like your father."

Sal felt a pang at the comment and lowered his gaze. Just as he was about to leave, however, she called his name.

"Yes, Professor?" he asked, turning to face her once more.

She took a few moments to formulate the words, her mouth unsure of what words to say as her mind battled. At last, she spoke in a quiet tone so that only they would hear.

"Be wary of Snape, Salvatrus. If you see him again, don't follow him or do as he says, and reject anything he might try to give you. I don't know what he is up to and that worries me. He is a cunning wizard, and a powerful one at that. Be careful and report to me if you see him, alright?"

"Yes, Professor," he reiterated, this time as a statement rather than a question. "I will."

Professor McGonagall gave a single nod and walked up the steps to her chambers, leaving Sal standing in the walkway and pondering where a certain book had come from.

Racing up the steps after dinner that night, he turned in early and waited for the others to fall asleep. As soon as he was sure that he was the only one up, he reached into his trunk and drew out the book, hiding under his covers with it.

"_Lumos_," he whispered to his wand and it lit a small light, just enough for him to read. Opening the front cover, he saw the words "This book is the Property of the Half-Blood Prince." His interest growing with each page, he flipped through the pages, glancing over the text scrawled in practically every single blank space and wondering who would want to mar a book so much. He stopped on a page that had been bookmarked and the first word he spotted was in the top margin.

"_Sectumsepra_," he murmured, running his finger across the fading black ink. "What does it do?" Beyond his covers, he heard a sudden gasp and shut the book with a snap, extinguishing the light with a quick word before peeking out cautiously.

The sight that met his eyes startled him more than anything he could have expected.


End file.
